


There's More Than One Way to Say It

by NightSearcher



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Best Friends, Captain America: The First Avenger, Complete, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel Universe, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Bucky Barnes, Pining Steve Rogers, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightSearcher/pseuds/NightSearcher
Summary: There are so many ways to say three simple words. Bucky and Steve learn just a few of the infinite possibilities.(Complete)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 7





	1. Worried About You

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: sexual scenarios, believed character death (spoiler alert), brief mention of suicidal thoughts

**_Brooklyn, 1940's_ **

"I'm worried about you." Bucky's feet hit the pavement with an easy thud.

"Why? Not like this hasn't happened before." Steve tried his best to keep up with his much taller friend's pace, but felt his chest tightening and his legs have a harder time moving after being beaten up.

"Well for one thing, it's almost winter time so your body's not gonna be doing so well thanks to the cold, and secondly, you're picking more and more fights than you can physically handle. Not that you can in the first place, ya punk." Noticing Steve struggling, Bucky ever so slightly slowed down his pace; enough to let his best friend catch up but subtle enough that he wouldn't catch shit from Steve for doing so. He knew how much it bothered him to be treated like he was made of glass, but Steve would be the first to throw aside his health if anyone made mention of it. Steve shrugged off Bucky's remark knowing full well that if he tried to refute what Buck had just said, he'd get an even bigger earful than his mom ever would have given. Sarah died four years before the war started. Sarah was Steve's only family, if you didn't consider Bucky to be some kind of family. His dad died long before he was born, and poor Sarah was forced to raise him all on her own. Bucky always praised her for doing such an amazing job with Steve, but then she'd go ahead and thank him for keeping an eye on him when she couldn't. Bucky had personally taken it upon himself to look after Steve in every way he could; but for some reason that was becoming a lot harder for Bucky, at least something was anyway.

Recently, Bucky had noticed a few joints here and there in Brooklyn where certain crowds would hang out. Curious, Bucky popped in one day and from that moment on, his world had changed in more ways than one. Bucky always knew how he felt for Steve wasn't "natural", as most folk would say. He'd probably get beaten, or worse, in anyone found out. So, Bucky kept it a secret, especially from Steve; the kid had enough problems as is trying to get by with all of his medical issues, paying rent, and not being taken seriously by almost anyone. In order to preserve his friendship with Steve, Bucky decided the day he knew that he would bury those feelings deep down, but manage to tell Steve in other ways. There was always more than one way to say it.

"Kid, how many times has this been, huh?" Bucky pulled the spare key from it's hiding place near Steve's door, "You gotta learn to remember to take your damn key with you in the morning. What happens if one winter evening you come home and you don't got your key, huh? I'll tell, ya. I'm gonna come by the next morning only to find you frozen outside your door."

"Alright, Buck! Geez. You're not my ma." Steve pushed passed him to enter his shoe box sized apartment.

"No. If I was your Ma, I'd have you by the ear giving you the worst earful of your life." Bucky began rummaging through the cabinet to find the tea after he'd put a pot on the stove set to boil. The air was getting cold fast and he knew Steve needed some heat in him quickly. Bucky swore one day he'd be shaking so bad he'd fall flat out of his own boots.

While Steve was taking off his shoes, Bucky felt a sudden urge to hug his best friend. Though he did his best to suppress his feelings for the smaller man, sometimes he couldn't help it and they began to slip through the cracks. Bucky was pretty sure the only reason they got away with it was because he'd use the excuse that he was tired and that Steve was the perfect size for leaning on, and Steve being so used to Bucky's touchiness, let it slide. He was also pretty sure that Steve enjoyed the extra heat, especially since it was getting a lot cooler a lot faster.

"So you gonna tell me why?" Bucky's jaw bobbed up and down off the top of Steve's skull, his arms cascaded over the smaller man's shoulders and his knee caps fit perfectly under the bend beneath Steve's rear. They were almost like the perfect jigsaw puzzle pieces.

"Tell you what?"

"Why’ve you been picking so many fights lately." Bucky's voice left no room for question. He wasn't happy at all with the fact that Steve was being so careless with himself.

"You wouldn't get it." Steve actually knocked Bucky off his back.

"I never will if you don't explain it to me!" Bucky was getting frustrated now. He knew better than anyone how Steve felt about himself but tried in vain to convince him that picking fights where he's likely to get himself killed is no use of his life at all.

"I just want to prove to myself that I can! That I'm not worthless! That I can at least stand up for myself!" Steve had his fists clenched and his back still turned to Bucky. His was still shivering from the cold, and the sound of the tea pot boiling over in the background didn't phase either of them. "You'll never understand, Buck! You've never been weak or afraid of anything! You'll never know how it feels to be completely pathetic and useless!" Bucky couldn't stand to hear the utter pain in the back of Steve's voice. It was breaking him up inside.

"Steve, look at me dammit!" Bucky forcefully turned Steve around to only confirm what he'd feared: Steve was crying. His eyes were pink and his cheeks were red from flush. His nose was still a bit runny and his lips were the slightest shade of purple from being outside. There was a fresh bruise on the left side of his jaw and a small cut on his forehead. Bucky always hated Steve crying just as much as Steve hated to cry in front of Bucky, even though he never managed to stop himself from doing so in front of his friend.

"I do know how it feels to be afraid. I'm scared shitless every time I know you walk out that door never knowing if you're coming back on your own two feet or passed out somewhere in a dark, wet alley. I'll never know how you feel exactly, but that doesn't mean I won't try. You gotta talk to me, kid. You can't leave it bottled up inside or else you're gonna explode one of these days. You just gotta talk to me, Stevie." All bets were off when Bucky called him Stevie. It was as if it were a signal for Steve to let himself go completely and be allowed to endure his weakest moment in the safe and nonjudgmental comfort of his best friend in the whole wide world.

"I'm worried about you, Stevie. I always am. It don't mean I won't kick your ass when I have to pick you up from those dark, wet alleys but it don't mean it won't hurt me any less. Just know I ain't leaving you anytime soon," Steve cried quietly into Bucky' shoulder and the two of them crumpled into a ball of mush in the middle of the parlor. Bucky had one hand on Steve's head, and the other on his back rubbing circles across the fabric clad skin. They sat there in warmth and Steve sniffled until Bucky broke their embrace only to get themselves cups of piping hot tea. He came back to find Steve asleep with his head flopped over and his back against the couch. He smiled a crooked smile. Bucky sat down right beside Steve, gently led his head over to Bucky's left shoulder and wrapped a blanket around the both of them.

After Bucky was filled with his tea, he nestled his head on top of Steve's and drifted off into sleep as well. Their arms managed to wrap around each other somehow and the two boys forgot about everything else and simply napped together on the floor of Steve's shoe box sized apartment in complete bliss, side by side.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of suicidal thoughts/actions, major character death (spoiler alert)

**The Bombed out Bar in London, 1943**

Steve walked through the most recently blitzed section of London and somehow managed to find the bar he and Bucky had laughed in not a few nights before. He slowly sifted his way through the door and debris, ignoring the groaning of the beams struggling to hold their weight. His eyes stung from the smoke and his lungs burned from the ash. None of that mattered though. Nothing mattered. As his feet stumbled amongst bits of building rubble and objects so blackened they were unrecognizable. A bottle and glass that were miraculously left intact caught Steve's eye.

He found a table and chair that wouldn't fall to dust under his weight. He sat and he drank. And he drank. And drank. Then came the tears. Steve didn't think he had any left in him, yet there they fell. His vision blurred. Steve kept throwing back the clear liquid until his throat felt like it was being burned and his voice was raw from sobbing.

The images were burned behind his eyes. They tormented his every waking moment, and haunted his dreams. His mind sent him back to the scene as if he was right there, left to suffer alone. Agonizingly sober yet ceaselessly taking in mouthful after mouthful of the liquid fire.

The snow stung his eyes as he hung from the torn open metal of the train. The sound of Bucky's scream echoed through the cavern walls piercing Steve's heart more painful than any bullet. He was alone. Utterly alone.

When they returned to camp, everyone grew quiet when Steve walked by. Not even Peggy's words could reach him. He was... somewhere else. Steve wandered over to his and Bucky's tent. Nothing but silence. The wind still whipped the canvas walls, like usual. The beds were made, like usual. His body ached from the hits he had taken, like usual. But nothing about this return was usual. Bucky wasn't making old man jokes. He wasn't flopping down on his bed and letting out a content sigh. Bucky wasn't there. Bucky was dead. Steve wished he was the one dead. He wished for his death over Bucky's faster than a heartbeat. No, it would kill Bucky if he lived without Steve. He wished he'd jumped after his love. Bucky was the reason Steve was alive. And not because he was his sniper guard, because Bucky was Steve's best friend. He was there every time when Steve got seriously ill. He was there when Steve's mom died. He was there through it all. They'd just gotten each other back, and had each other in love.

* * *

The rest of it until this moment was a blur. Steve didn't care that he didn't remember, or couldn't. Nothing mattered. Bucky was gone, and nothing could fix that. What was left after this? Why did he have to live on? Why him? Why couldn't he have gone after him? Why? WHY!...

He sat in that bar for what seemed like eternity, the only sound was the splintering wood, Steve's sobs, and his thoughts ringing in his head.

_ What's left for me now, Bucky?... Bucky? Please, God, if you're really there let him answer me. Please, what do I do? Sweetheart, come back. Please. _

The only response he would get was more silence.

* * *

It had been several weeks since Peggy had convinced him to keep going after that night in London, though no one knew how much Steve was hurting inside. He never told her about the loaded pistol in his pocket and a note he had left back at the barracks. But Steve suspected that she'd already found it, and that was why she found it so fast. He never told anyone, not even Peggy about him and Bucky. He never told anyone how there was nothing left inside him. Whatever Erskine saw in him was gone now. Steve changed after Bucky fell.

He never laughed anymore, he could barely even muster a fake smile for pictures and war movies anymore. He couldn't draw anymore. Something he loved to do even when he was down on his luck, something that never failed to make him forget his worries even for a second. Before he gave it up for good, they always ended up as Bucky; But no matter how hard he'd try he could never get them just right. His smile wouldn't crook like that. The curve of his hips were more pronounced. His hair didn't fall like that. Then drawings of the cavern would come across the pages. Eventually, they were all scrawled over in dark and illegible scribbles, as well as tears. So he stopped. Steve didn't have anything anymore. Accept maybe Peggy. She was his rock. Sometimes he'd go to see her during the night when he couldn't sleep, just to talk and try to keep his mind off things. He'd write to her and make radio calls when he was out on a mission with the Commandos. Rumors began floating about the two of them; sure Steve loved Peggy, but it wasn't like that. She was that friend who you might as well have known your whole life. Peggy could read Steve like a book, and she didn't even have to tease open the cover. She helped him. She was there for him. Peggy was the only person he had left, and he vowed to protect her in any way that he could. But it would never be enough. Nothing would ever be enough for Steve.

It didn't matter how many bullets he took, how many bad guys he knocked back, nothing would ever amount to the sacrifice Bucky made. Nothing.


End file.
